


Dust Inbreathed

by jellyfishline



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Dean POV, Depression, Drowning, Gen, Grief/Mourning, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Near Death, Pre-Series, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishline/pseuds/jellyfishline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fire, firemen were worried ash had gotten in his lungs. Dean thinks there still is. That’s why he feels bad and can’t speak. Because of the ash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Inbreathed

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from T. S. Eliot's The Four Quartets.

Dean is a big boy now. He takes baths by himself.

Mommy used to give him baths. She used to wash his hair and scrub behind his ears and make up songs about the washcloth.

“Go take a bath,” Dad says, so Dean tries.

***

Sammy can sit up real good now. He sits next to Dean in the booth at a diner. Dean lets him lick syrup off his fork.

“What a couple of sweeties,” says the waitress. She has red lips and big eyes. Sammy doesn’t care, but Dean looks at her. “How old?” she asks.

Dad isn’t listening. He’s staring out the window, scowling. The waitress starts looking funny, like a bad smell under her nose.

Dean smiles at her. Smiles are thank yous. They make people be nice and also leave you alone, if you use them right.

***

Dean can’t always take baths. Sometimes they only have showers and Dean doesn’t know how to use showers yet, so he waits until they go to a place with a bathtub. What’s really hard is making sure Sammy is clean. Sometimes Dad gives him baths in the sink, and sometimes he doesn’t. Sammy is getting too big for the sink anyway. He goes in the bath with Dean.

Dean has to be careful so soap doesn’t get in his eyes, so his head doesn’t go under the water, so he doesn’t try to stand up and get hurt. Usually Dean doesn’t even bother with soap. He just lets Sammy splash around until he gets tired or cold, and then they sit on the floor in a towel. Dean counts Sammy’s toes and makes his hair stick up and tickles him.

Sammy giggles.

***

Sammy knows words now.

“No,” he says, and _car_ , and _that_ , and _Dean_. He says ‘no’ most.

“No!” he says, when he doesn’t want to go to bed, or eat cold French fries, or take a bath. “No!”

“No!” Dad says, when, for the tenth time, he has to take Sammy away from the motel door. It’s open, inviting a breeze to come inside. Inviting Sammy to go outside. Dad puts him back down on the carpet next to Dean. “Stay!” Dad says.

Sammy crawls out the door again. Dad puts his face in his hands.

Dean follows Sammy. They play outside for a while.

***

“Sam knows more words than you do,” Dad says.

Dean is counting Sammy’s toes. He keeps getting stuck on seven or eight, because Dad keeps talking, and it’s hard to count and pay attention at the same time.

“Did you hear what I said?” Dad says. “I said your baby brother talks more than you do.”

But that’s not what he said. Those are different words.

“Jesus Christ.” Dad always says that when he’s sad. “I’m losing it. Damn it, Dean. I can’t do this. Oh, God. I can’t.”

Dean thinks for a moment, and then tries to smile. He knows that smiling isn’t the right face, but he doesn’t know how else to say _I’m sorry._

Dad’s not looking, anyway.

Sammy wriggles his feet.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

***

Dean likes it best when he can take baths alone.

That way, he can make the water really hot, and sit in it until it’s cold. He can float on his back and stare up at the ceiling. Most of the time, he can get his head to touch one end of the tub and his feet to touch the other. He’s really tall now.

Dean always makes sure to swallow some of the bathwater when it’s really hot. It stings his mouth and his throat, and he thinks he can feel it go all the way into his lungs.

After the fire, firemen were worried ash had gotten in his lungs. Dean thinks there still is. That’s why he feels bad and can’t speak. Because of the ash.

***

Sometimes Dad gets mad because Dean takes too many baths.

“Dean, you just took a bath yesterday. You don’t need to take one every damn day.”

Dad doesn’t like it when Dean takes baths because he takes a long time and he’s supposed to look after Sammy. So Dean tries not to take long baths by himself anymore. He drinks lots of water though, to wash out the ash.

Sometimes, when he and Sammy are in the bath, he lets Sammy go under the water. Not for very long. Just so that Sammy can wash out his lungs, too.

One time Dad sees. He gets mad. Real mad. He shouts and shouts and takes Sammy out of the bath and holds him all wet and naked. Sammy cries. Dad cries and then he shouts some more. Dean doesn’t know what the words mean.

Dad takes Sammy away. Dean sits in the water until his toes are wrinkly and his teeth chatter.

“No more baths,” Dad says, but Dean already knows.

***

Dad never takes baths.

He takes showers. They’re short and loud and the water sounds angry in the pipes.

When he’s sad, he sits on the bed, or sometimes the floor, and drinks beer. Sometimes in cans and sometimes in fancy glass bottles, different shapes. He drinks and he cries and he talks to Dean. He says he’s sorry. Says he’s angry. Says he misses Mommy. Says he’s scared. Says all kinds of stuff.

Dean listens. Sometimes he climbs over and puts his head on Dad’s knee, and Dad puts a hand on his shoulder, and they stay there, just like that, until Sammy wakes up or gets fussy.

Maybe other people don’t have to wash out their lungs. Maybe they talk and the dirt comes out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Dad says. He points his bottle at Dean. It shakes. “Why can’t you just act like a normal person?”

Dean doesn’t know. He’s not a normal person. He’s just Dean.

“Goddamn it,” Dad says. “I should’ve let you two fucking drown.”

***

Sammy’s getting bigger all the time. Now he can say _bus_ and _macaroni_ and _up_ and _don’t_ and _want_ and other stuff too.

“Soon you aren’t gonna need us anymore, huh Sammy?” Dad says. He doesn’t sound happy.

Dean doesn’t know if Sammy will ever get that big, no matter what Dad says. If he does it’ll be a long, long time from now.

Now, Dean wipes the syrup off Sammy’s chin. He can’t reach the napkins, but his sleeve works okay. Sammy squirms. He tries to slip out of the booth, but Dean holds on until his face is clean and pink.

Dean knows he’s not good enough at taking care of him. He’s not as good as Mommy—not as good as Dad needs him to be. But he tries. He has to. It’s only him and Sammy and Dad now.

Trying is all they have.


End file.
